


Trying To Find Our Way Down A Road We Don't Know

by afteriwake



Series: All Of Time And Space [17]
Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Big Bang Challenge, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-03
Updated: 2012-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-09 03:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes grew up watching over Amelia Pond, and he never once believed in her “raggedy doctor.” So what happens when, years later, she shows up on his doorstep with the very man in question right behind her?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my beta [dhampyresa](http://dhampyresa.livejournal.com) for going through this BB fic (as well as many others) and giving me advice, and many thanks to [liisakee](http://liisakee.tumblr.com) for making her Wholock fanvideo "Ships In The Night," which inspired this story. This fic is a rewrite of the Doctor Who episodes “Flesh And Stone” and “Amy’s Choice” with nods to other series 5 episodes.
> 
>  **ETA:** I know it is years later, but I finally found the art for this story! Full credit goes to [equal_to_k](http://equal-to-k.livejournal.com/26998.html) for it (link goes to the master art post on Livejournal).

Sherlock Holmes had always believed the man was a figment of Amelia Pond’s vivid imagination. A raggedy doctor who ate fish fingers and custard, travelling in a flying blue police box, which was large enough to house a swimming pool in a library. He remembered the day she first told him the story, and he remembered the crack in her wall being fixed and her shed being smashed to pieces. He’d always believed her Aunt Sharon had fixed the crack, and though he had never come up with an explanation for the shed, he still believed she had made up the story to get his attention.

He had always been a serious child, so he never believed in such things that weren’t actually possible. Amelia was quite the opposite, with her belief in the doctor and all the creative imaginings she used to come up with. But he liked Amelia just the same, as she was the only child in Leadworth he actually spent time around, thanks to his mother forcing Mycroft to babysit her on a regular basis, and then him when Mycroft left. She grew on him. She had a feisty personality, even as a little girl, and he felt drawn to it. It provided a spark in him, so to speak.

He was older than her by a few years. When she said she had her encounter with the doctor he was already a teenager; when she was a teenager he was only in Leadworth occasionally for family visits. But he had always made it a point to find her and say hello, and she had always been happy to see him, giving him a hug which he would always receive awkwardly. It was probably the only thing that made returning home bearable. There was something about her that attracted him like a magnet to a lodestone, like a bee to the flower with the right nectar. Once you met Amelia Pond you didn’t forget her, you didn’t want to not know her, and she left a mark on you, some indelible imprint that made sure she was always there in the back of your mind.

He had left at eighteen, went off to London and forgot about her, so much as he was able. He kept tabs on her, though, from those who still talked to him. She was an irrepressible spirit, making her way as a kissogram, dating Rory Williams, living a boring, normal life that seemed almost a pity. Then, the night before her wedding, she just…disappeared. No one knew where she had gone, all they knew was that her fiancée was at the altar the next morning and she wasn’t. There had been no note, and that led to a frantic search, but after a week people assumed she had just gotten cold feet and run away, and while it was still talked about people chalked it up to Amelia being her usual self. Some made mentions that perhaps that raggedy doctor she talked about as a girl had come back for her. In the end, though, they knew she’d be back eventually.

It remained nothing more than a blip in his radar, though, a small thing of note but not much bother, until he got the knock on his door. It was pouring rain out, an unusual storm in the summer, and no one who was smart would be out at this time; certainly, no one who knew him would, and that was why the knock was so unusual. He hadn’t made it to the door yet when the banging stopped, and he flung the door open to see flaming red hair walking down the step. “Yes?” he said impatiently. He didn’t like to be interrupted, especially when the person making the racket didn’t have the decency to stay until it was answered.

She turned, and he froze. Amelia Pond, standing drenched on his steps, wearing a red sweater and a skirt too short for her own good, tights and Converse, an annoyed look on her face that blossomed into the most brilliant smile he’d ever seen cross her lips. He knew it was her, though she had still been a gangly teenager the last time he’d laid eyes on her in person. He’d seen the announcement of her engagement in the local paper he still read occasionally, but the black and white newsprint picture had not done her justice. “I guess it was a good idea to look you up,” she said.

“Come in, you look like a drowned rat,” he said, moving out of the way.

“Always one with words,” she said with a smirk in a slightly impish tone as she breezed past him. Logically he knew what he needed to do: get a towel, offer her tea, move the decapitated cows head back into the refrigerator before allowing her into the kitchen, which was the only area with room to move comfortably. But he found himself dumbstruck. He wasn’t that much older than her, just a few years, but he hadn’t been around to see what a stunning creature she had turned into. “It’s bloody freezing out there,” she said, oblivious to him and his thoughts.

He moved past her to his washroom, grabbed a towel and went back to where she was standing by the door, offering it to her. “Would you like some tea?”

“Yes please,” she said, taking it and beginning to dry off. He hurried into the kitchen, got the cows head and stowed it in the refrigerator just as she came into view. It was a modest place, and he was lucky to have it; his consulting detective business was not new but still new enough that he didn’t have steady business, and only Lestrade had bothered to notice him, though he had made himself useful enough that he got the stray odd case thrown his way. He got more business with the private sector, but those cases were never as satisfying. “I need your help, Sherlock.” 

“With what?” he asked.

She paused. “I know you never believed me about my raggedy doctor, but…he came back. And now he’s missing again. He dropped me off nearby, and I stepped outside and then he just vanished. He isn’t like that, and I was hoping you could help locate him for me.”

He groaned as quietly as he could. The blasted raggedy doctor, the one who put her to flights of fancy as a child. She must not have grown out of her delusion, and the idea of doing something as grown up as marriage must have scared her out of her wits, so she ran. Now it all made sense. He was about to say something when there was a frantic pounding at the door and a male voice yelling “Amelia!” over and over. He stopped what he was doing and went back towards the door, which she had opened.

Standing on his stoop was another drenched person, only this one was a male, wearing brown pants, a white shirt with thin red stripes, red suspenders and a red bowtie. He had a tweed jacket held up over his head with his free hand, though it hadn’t done a good job of keeping him dry. He flashed a smile at Amy, then turned to him. “It’s a good thing Amy checked up on you on my computer,” he said.

“And you are…?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m the Doctor,” he said with a grin and a slight wave. Then he turned back to Amelia. “I got the TARDIS fixed now, it shouldn’t jump off again like that.”

He knew his jaw was hanging slightly, and his eyes had widened just a bit. He could tell because Amelia turned to look at him and she chuckled slightly. “Told you he was real, Sherlock,” she said, her eyes bright.

“You know, I can come back in an hour or so, let you two catch up,” the man he had always assumed was imaginary said. “She had planned on it anyway while we were here in London.”

“Come in, you’re soaked,” he replied. There were questions, so many questions. He had things he wanted to know. 

“Oh, you just want to poke him and prod him and learn every last thing you can,” she teased as her Doctor came inside. She handed her friend the towel as he handed her his jacket, then took the jacket as he took the towel. “Admit it, Sherlock.”

“Most definitely,” he said in a fascinated tone of voice.

She laughed then, and hung her friend’s jacket on his coatrack. “You start now, then. I can find my way around the kitchen and make the tea.”

“Yes, fine,” he replied, not taking his eyes off the Doctor. “Oh, and don’t open the refrigerator.”

“What, do you have some mad science experiment in there?” she asked as she walked away.

“Cow’s head,” he said absently.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she replied. 

By that point the Doctor had finished toweling off, then looked at him. “The great Sherlock Holmes,” he said, smiling.

“Are you really…?” He paused. “Can you…? Did you…?” He cursed himself for not being able to finish any of his sentences. 

“Am I really real? Yes, I’m a Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey. Can I really travel through space? Yes, and time, too. Did I really visit Amelia all those years ago? Yes, I did.”

“Fascinating,” he murmured in reply. “All these years I thought you were a fanciful story in her head.”

“My fault entirely,” he said with a grin. “Really, though, I should let you two catch up. Be on my way.”

“Sit _down_ , Doctor,” Amelia said from the kitchen. “I’m not going to deprive myself of the chance to prove an old friend wrong.”

Well, that answered one niggling little question in his head: now he knew she still thought of him as a friend, which wasn’t a bad designation to be, though he thought you were supposed to stay in touch with your friends. Perhaps that was why he was an old friend. He led the way to his kitchen, where he saw Amelia humming to herself as she opened cupboards to find the tea. He wanted to watch for a moment but instead went and fetched the tea for her. She smiled at him, then took the tea and went to work. “Do you need any help?” he asked.

“I’m fine. You go interrogate my imaginary friend,” she said with a smile, making motions with her hands to shoo him out.

“This is the only place with any real room,” he replied.

“Well, then stay out of my way.”

“Is she like this all the time?” he asked her companion.

“Frequently, yes,” he replied with a smile. Then it faltered. “She had a bit of a scare today, though, so she may be doing this to relax.”

“Scare?” He turned and looked at her, really paying attention. Ah, yes, he could see it now, a tremor running through her hands. She was dealing with it well, but sooner or later whatever it was that happened would have its full effect on her.

“Weeping Angels,” he said quietly. “I had offered to take her home but she said no, she wanted to come visit an old friend in London.” He wasn’t quiet enough, as the clatter of cheap china got their attention. Amy looked around for a towel to sop up the spilled water. “I’m sorry, Amelia.”

“No, it’s all right,” she said. She looked at her friend and gave him a shaky smile, and that was all he needed to see. But Sherlock knew she needed more. He wasn’t comfortable with emotion, but this was Amelia, a girl who he knew would keep it in until she broke. He went and got the towel, setting it on top of the water, standing close to her and not saying a word. She turned, and leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around her, still staying silent. She turned, then reached up and grabbed his shirt, clenching it in her fists as she began to cry, the whole tale spilling out in a mess of words.

He just held her till she got it all out, glancing at her friend every once in a while. The Doctor had been looking on approvingly, and at least he knew he wasn’t making a hash of things. When she was done she let go of his shirt, excused herself and went back to making the tea, changing the subject. Her friend went along with it, and so did he, after a moment. Soon they were sharing cups of tea around the island in the center of the kitchen, Amy telling about old times.

He didn’t ask the Doctor many questions; he knew that there would be another time more suited for that later. Tonight was about reconnection, about using something comfortable to move on from something horrific. After about two hours Amelia looked as though she was going to sleep standing up, so he suggested that they adjourn for the night. Amelia nodded, then gave him a hug, surprising him, and walked towards the door, leaving her friend staying in the kitchen.

“You did a good thing tonight,” the Doctor said, looking at him intently.

“There will be other times. She needed tonight for what it was.” He shrugged slightly, casting a glance at Amelia. “It was the least I could do.”

“No, it was so much more than that,” he replied. “You have a brilliant mind. Having to have to sit on all those questions must be torture.”

“You have no idea,” he murmured, turning back to the man.

“I’ll make it a point to swing back by, when Amy’s better,” he said. “Just us. And you can ask all the questions you want.”

“You swear?”

“You have my word.” He reached across and offered his hand, and it was gladly shaken. The Doctor led the way, and he picked up his slightly less damp jacket from Amelia. “You take care.”

“We’ll have to do this again soon,” she told him with a smile.

“Yes,” he replied. He had questions for her, too, but there would be another time, another place. He knew right now was not the time to set it up, that she would find him when she was ready. “Take care, Amelia.”

“You too, Sherlock,” she said with a smile. Then she leaned up and kissed his cheek softly. “See you later.”

The Doctor had already opened the door for them and they walked into the brisk but drier evening. He watched him offer her his arm, and they walked to a blue police box on the corner that he knew had not been there before. He leaned against the open door as he watched them go inside, and a few moments later he heard a soft “vworp-vworp-vworp” as the police box disappeared. He stared for a few more minutes, then stepped inside and shut the door. Now he just had to deal with the agony of the unanswered questions and the surprising thoughts he was having about his old friend Amelia. It was going to be a long night.


	2. Chapter 2

The Doctor was true to his word, but it took some time; two months after the unexpected visit he came back, alone, and spent five hours with Sherlock, answering all the questions he could think of. Some of the answers he got made absolutely no sense; some would brand him a raving lunatic if he shared them. But by the time the conversation was over he had answers, glorious answers, to many questions he had had in his head.

They also spoke about Amelia; she was doing better, and when the Doctor had suggested picking up her fiancée there had been a fierce denial, which signaled to him that he had been right, that she wasn’t ready for marriage, or at least not marriage to Rory. She had started asking to come back to London, though, and that was rather surprising. He asked the Doctor point blank if she’d asked to see him again and he said she’d thought about it but kept coming up with other things to do instead, and he felt his heart sink a little at the news. But the Doctor reassured him that she did consider him, she just also considered he might be too busy to entertain her. That lifted his spirits somewhat.

It was a pleasant afternoon, and as the Doctor helped clean up after his light meal of tea and Jammie Dodgers he felt the need to ask one last question, one that he had been curious about in regards to the many companions he said he had had. “Do you think Amelia will ever go back to her old life?”

“No, probably not,” he replied, shaking his head. “Most of my companions find that going back to their old lives is too hard. I have no idea what she will do when her time with me is done, but whatever plans she might have, I’ll support them and help her out in any way I can.” He was quiet for a moment. “It might not be a bad idea if you keep in contact with her, Sherlock. I think you could be a steadying hand, when that time comes. From talking to her she didn’t seem to have many friends in Leadworth, and my disappearance all those years ago left her with a reputation, which I’m sure you’re aware of.” 

Sherlock nodded at this; she did, indeed, have a reputation as being a bit loopy. It was on the same level as his for being odd, which was why he had left as soon as he was able to. “Yes, she most definitely has one. A reputation like that in a small town can be off-putting.”

“Perhaps starting over in London might be best for her. Big city where she can melt into the crowd, as much as she’s able. When her time with me comes to an end, I’ll make the suggestion.”

"She’s welcome to visit whenever she wants,” he replied. They spoke a bit more after that, and the Doctor left with a jaunty wave and a spring in his step. He was not surprised when, an hour later, there was a knock on his door and he found Amelia standing there, a very large bag of Chinese takeout in her hands. “I didn’t think your visit would be so soon,” he said, mentally slapping himself.

“Yeah, well, I was in the neighborhood,” she said with a smile, handing him the bag. He took it and moved aside to let her come in. “You’ve got a new place, I see.”

He had just moved into 221B Baker Street recently. Right now he was making enough money to cover the rent, but he knew, eventually, he would have to take on a flat mate. But that was neither here nor there. Right now he had company, important company, and he should give her his undivided attention. He took the food into the kitchen and began pulling cartons out of the bag: sweet and sour pork, beef with broccoli, moo-goo gai-pan, spicy shrimp lo mein, cashew chicken and at least a dozen and a half pot stickers and eggrolls, not to mention the rice. He knew now that the Doctor had, in fact, peeked in his fridge when he had opened it and saw how little food was in there.

He pulled down two plates and two pairs of chopsticks from the last time he’d had Chinese. Amelia made a face and made a stabbing motion with her hands. He grinned slightly and handed her a fork and plate at the same time. Then they dug into the food, chatting about little things as they ate. She told him about her adventures, he told her about some of the things he had worked on. He didn’t usually discuss work with anyone; it bored most people to tears. But she seemed intrigued, and asked thoughtful questions.

But soon there was silence. Companionable silence, not awkward, but he felt he ought to break it just in case. “Have you been home yet?” he asked casually, when he knew, in fact, that she had been back to officially end things with Rory. He had found himself on the end of a drunken phone call from Williams, asking him to find Amelia and bring her home. He declined, and did not mention that he had already seen her, and that she had cried on his chest after a scare with angel statues that could kill. Williams wouldn’t believe it anyway, he wagered.

“Yeah, briefly. Just had to do some…stuff,” she said, picking at a piece of shrimp still on her plate.

“He called me,” he replied. “Your ex-fiancée.”

She made a slight face, and then sighed. “I don’t know what I was thinking, agreeing to marry him. I don’t even know if I love him or not.”

“At least you know you can love,” he replied absently.

“What, are you saying you don’t?” she asked, surprised.

“Some people say I’m a high functioning sociopath,” he scoffed. “Most emotions don’t register with me.”

“I’ve never thought you were a sociopath,” she said, surprised. “Aloof and high-strung and a bit odd, but I am too. I kind of thought we were just similar. If I ever slapped you with a diagnosis it’d be some form of autism. But I’m not a doctor so I don’t know.”

He looked at her. “I don’t think I’m capable of love. In fact, I’m frankly surprised I’m capable of being friends with anyone.”

“But we seem to be friends,” she said.

“I know. You’re an exception, I believe.”

She smiled at him. “Good to know that. Now I’ll just have to work hard at proving you wrong.”

“Proving what point wrong?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“That you’re a high functioning sociopath,” she said, staring intently. “I think you just tell yourself that so you can avoid having to have any feelings. A sociopath wouldn’t have held someone while she cried, and you did that just months ago.”

“Yes, but as I just pointed out, you seem to be an exception.” He stared just as intently back.

“And I’m sure you’ll find other exceptions, other people who can crack your shell. I bet the Doctor could.” Then her eyes widened, and she smiled. “You should come somewhere with us.”

“I haven’t the time,” he said, finally looking away.

“Rubbish. He can bring you right back to this day and time if he wanted.” Then she paused. “Or close enough to it. He does sometimes get dates wrong.” She moved from where she was to where he was, and stood in front of him. “You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

He looked at her intently, knowing that on one hand she was right. But, damn it, she was trying to change him, by means of manipulation, and he didn’t want to allow anyone to do that, not even her. He was all set to refuse when she reached over and touched his hand. A light touch, probably nothing more than a feathery brush of her fingertips on his palm, but it jolted him. He had wondered what would happen if he found himself with a clear shot at her company, even though it still wasn’t completely clear. Now he knew. “All right. But only one. I have pressing business to attend to.”

She squealed and threw her arms around his neck, nearly knocking him off balance. He placed his hands on her sides to steady both of them just as she pulled away, and he found his arms hanging in midair for a moment. But then she was off, closing the containers of food and storing them in his fridge. He took the plates and utensils and took them to the sink, rinsing them as she rattled off places they could go or things they could do, and when they were done she reached over and offered him her hand. He took it, with just a smidge of hesitation, and she pulled him away, off to this grand adventure.

It involved a trip to an older Venice, and aliens who appeared as though they were vampires, and he managed to save a man from doing something utterly stupid such as blowing himself up, and he also got into a fight with the lead alien’s son and saved Amelia’s life in the process, but he had to admit it was interesting and he really would have regretted it if he hadn’t gone. And then he was back, and only an hour had passed since he left. The Doctor parked his wondrous machine where he had the last time, and he watched as Amelia escorted him back home.

“That was an adventure,” he remarked as he fished in his pocket for the key to let himself in.

“Mm-hmm, it certainly was,” she said with a grin. She leaned against the door, satisfied smile on her face, watching him. “Sure I can’t convince you to have another?”

“As entertaining as it was, I don’t think I want to face death again in such close proximity for at least a few more weeks,” he said, finally finding the key.

“But in a few weeks, yeah?” she said, putting a hand on the hand with his key. Once again, he felt that jolt.

“In a few weeks, perhaps,” he said slowly, not looking at her.

“Excellent!” she said. She leaned over and kissed his cheek, before moving away quickly. “Then I’ll come back in a few weeks and we can go do something else.”

“Fine,” he said, putting the key in the lock and twisting it quickly. He looked at her and realized he didn’t really want the evening to end quite yet. But her ride was waiting no more than twenty feet away, and he knew that meant she was going to make a quick exit.

“Well, I guess—“ She started to say something, then bolted from his side. He turned, and saw the TARDIS dematerializing as Amelia reached it. She stared in shock, then stomped back over to Sherlock. “I can’t bloody _believe_ him!”

“Perhaps an emergency arose?” he suggested.

“Yeah, maybe,” she said glumly.

“You’re more than welcome to spend some more time with me,” he said, almost afraid to make the suggestion while she seemed to be in a foul mood at being left behind. He, on the other hand, thought he might just owe the Doctor a bit of gratitude.

“That’s fine,” she said, the anger deflating. “Besides, there’s all that Chinese take-out left.”

“Which you’re more than welcome to.” He held the door open and they made their way to his flat. “In case he doesn’t turn up again tonight, Mrs. Hudson might allow you to use the bedroom in the other flat. The tenant left in a hurry and left all his belongings.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be back before then, but thanks.” She headed back into the kitchen and pulled a plate and the fork out of the drying rack and set it down. She had just pulled a carton out of the fridge when she stopped, as if overcome with a sudden insight. “He did it on purpose.”

“I believe he did,” Sherlock said.

“Sneaky bastard wants to play matchmaker,” she mumbled under her breath, but he could still make it out, and he had to smile at that. Then she looked at him, and her eyes narrowed. “You weren’t in on this, were you?”

“No,” he said, the smile dropping as he bristled slightly. “Not that I mind but no, I was not in on whatever plan your friend had going on in his head.”

She stared at him for a moment, and then blinked. “You don’t mind.”

“No,” he said. “I…rather like your company, and I’m glad you’re still here,” he added, dropping his voice volume a bit, and damn near mumbling the last bit.

She set the carton down on her plate, then came into the study and stood in front of him. “Do you fancy me, Sherlock?” she asked quietly. It was in no way pushy, and it was also steeled and caged a bit, as if waiting for a rebuke, a dismissal. He didn’t look at her directly until she stood in his line of vision.

“Perhaps,” he said.

“Ah,” she said. “If it helps…I think I fancy you, too.” From the slight blush at her cheeks he could tell she meant it. “When we were younger, I used to wonder what it would take to get your attention. Apparently it was just waiting a few years.”

He could feel himself warm, just a little, when she put one hand on his waist and the other on the side of his face. She stepped into his personal space and kissed him on the lips. He’d kissed other women before. Mostly girls when he was younger, trying to figure out what the fascination was. And he wasn’t a virgin, either, though he hadn’t gotten much enjoyment from the act.

This, though…this was different. If he’d had a romantic bone in his body, he probably could have spouted off poetry at the sensation that filled him as he kissed her back, first gently, then with an increasing passion he hadn’t realized he possessed. He pulled her close and she melted against him. In the back of his mind he was afraid they might set the room on fire.

But after a moment she pulled away, and he worried he had done something wrong. “I shouldn’t be doing this,” she murmured, moving away from him. “I just left a man at the altar not that long ago, I shouldn’t be snogging someone else.”

“But you don’t love him,” he pointed out, the brisk façade he usually wore pulling back into place, quenching the fire.

“I know that,” she said tensely. “But it’s not right.”

“Yes. Of course,” he said briskly, almost bleakly.

She was quiet for a moment, and he watched the emotions splash across her face. Something was clearly at war within her. And after a moment, there was a victor who sided with him, as she took the few steps back to him and kissed him just as passionately as she had before. He had to hold her close to steady them, but the fire in him broke back just as fierce as it had been before. She pulled away after a few moments to catch her breath. “It never felt like this when I kissed him,” she said, breathing heavily.

“It’s never felt like this for me before, either,” he admitted.

“Like you’re tingling, full of energy?” she asked.

“More like I’m on fire,” he murmured before kissing her again, without as much raw need this time. In the span of a few days to them but a mere hour to everyone else she’d managed to flip his entire worldview upside down. He’d never imagined he could actually feel this level of emotion. He was thankful they had shut the door behind them because she was pulling him in that direction, and when her back hit the door she reached for the buttons on his shirt.

And that was when cold hard logic kicked in. He moved his hands to her and stopped their frantic action. “This is too fast,” he said, resting his forehead against hers. She was shaking, and he grasped her hands tightly to keep them still. “You know it.”

“I know,” she said, half groaning. She moved her hands out of his grasp and put her arms around his neck, and he set his hands on either side of her waist. They stayed there for a few minutes, before he pulled away and began to fix his shirt. She braced herself against the door. “If we kiss again, I won’t try anything.”

“As much as I would dearly like to, perhaps we should…stop,” he said when he was righted. “For now. Give it some time, and see if we still want to once we’re level-headed again.”

“I’ve wanted to since I was nine years old,” she said with a slightly wry smile. “I don’t think an hour is going to change that.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” he asked, watching her push off the door and walk into the kitchen.

She rolled her eyes as she went back to the fridge for more cartons. “That isn’t how it works when you’re young. A girl is supposed to give off subtle signs and the boy is just supposed to know. I always thought a person as smart as you would see when they were being flirted with.”

“I’m intellectual, not emotional,” he said following her motions with his eyes.

“And I bet right now you’re rethinking the whole sociopath thing,” she said with a teasing smile.

“Yes,” he said slowly. “I’ll admit that recent events have caused me to question it. But you could still be an exception.”

“I like being an exception,” she said. 

He got a plate and they began serving themselves, lapsing back into casual conversation. But it was a complete front; they kept stealing glances at each other that were clearly a sign that this casualness was just a stopgap to overcome before they could see exactly what might happen between them. He didn’t think it would take so long to eat so little, but when he was done he looked at her and felt almost a bit awkward. How in the bloody hell could he be _nervous_? He was a grown man who had done this sort of thing before. And then it hit him: it hadn’t meant this much before. Before it had been a release, and nothing more. This was different because she was different. She was special.

He moved out into the living room and looked around, clearing off the old sofa in the back of the room. When he was done she had joined him, and he waited. She sat down and then offered him her hand and almost pulled him down beside her. Then she leaned over and kissed him softly, reaching over and touching his face. He moved a hand to her waist and pulled her closer to him. It didn’t take very long until she was practically in his lap, the kisses rising in temperature.

She didn’t try to do anything more than kiss, though by her body’s responses he knew she wanted more. His body was demanding the same thing but he was much better at stamping down most of the signs. He knew if it did go farther he would regret it and this was something he didn’t want to look back on with regret.

At some point she had shed her jacket, and he was running a hand up her bare arm, enjoying the feel of her skin when there was a knocking at the door. “Ignore it,” she murmured, just barely lifting her lips from his.

“It could be Mrs. Hudson,” he said.

“Or a modern Jack the Ripper,” she said.

“Or the Doctor,” he pointed out.

She stilled, and then with a sigh she got off of him. He tried to make himself look as presentable as possible and went to open the door. Lestrade was standing there, arm raised to knock again. “I have a--“ He paused as Sherlock pushed the door open a little wider. “Oh. You have company.”

“You have a case?” he asked.

“Triple homicide. We can’t figure out how the killer got in because the doors and windows are all locked from the inside, and it doesn’t appear to be a murder/suicide.”

This was a dilemma he had feared would ruin the night. He turned to Amelia, but she had sat back down on the sofa and picked up a stray file. “Go on. Go. If my ride comes back I’ll leave a note and we can go out again later. I’ll lock behind me.”

He had to hide the impulse to smile. He quickly grabbed his coat and scarf from where he had left them and headed out the door. Lestrade looked at him, slightly bewildered look on his face. “What?” he asked sharply as he shut the door behind him.

“I just never pegged you as the type to have a date, that’s all.”

“Yes, well, it’s a surprise to me as well,” he said brusquely as they left. It took two hours but he figured out it had, in fact, been a murder/suicide. He hurried back to his flat only to find it empty, much to his surprisingly vast disappointment. He went into the kitchen and found a note in flowery handwriting tacked onto the fridge. He pulled it off and as he read, a smile formed on his face.

_So. That was quite interesting. Definitely worth waiting for. Next time you have the urge to travel to some exotic locale, call me. Maybe I can arrange some more time alone together._

At the bottom was her phone number. He pulled out his phone, programmed her number in, and then put the note back where she had put it. Suddenly he had a very good reason for finishing off his open cases…


	3. Chapter 3

It took two weeks. He found he had this unknown amazing ability to completely shelve all thoughts of Amelia when he needed to work, one he hadn’t possessed during the two months between visits, where stray thoughts had crept up every once in a while at inopportune times. In fact, he had a greater clarity of thought then before, probably because there was a purpose to his work: get it done right the first time in the least amount of time possible.

But then there were dreams, lucid dreams so close to reality that he found himself disappointed when he woke up that it was not, in fact, reality. A cold shower tended to blast away the fragments of them and provide for a good start to the day, and he would forget about them until the next one occurred, and he wondered if it was his mind doing some sort of self-torture in order to egg him on.

As soon as he had assured Lestrade that, yes, the grandmother really was a ruthless killer and that he had all the evidence he needed to convict her, he whipped out his mobile. He had avoided texting or calling her until he was done. Of course, that didn’t mean she would drop everything to answer. Or even that she could answer; he’d not asked the Doctor if there was ample cell phone coverage in his TARDIS. He pulled up Amelia and let it ring.

After three rings she picked up. “Hello?”

“Amelia, it’s Sherlock.” He waited a bit. “Amelia?”

“Hold on, he’s getting a lock on your location,” she said.

“I’m inside Scotland Yard,” he said. 

“Well, that makes it easier. I’ll be outside in five minutes. Maybe less.”

“All right.” He hung up and made his way outside. He knew it hadn’t been five minutes, but she was there waiting, wearing a blue jacket over a blue top with a bit of orange peeking out and blue pants. She smiled at him and nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and when he got close enough offered him her hand. He took it, and she lead him down the way to a blue police box he knew didn’t belong there.

“Hope you don’t mind swimming,” she said as she opened the TARDIS doors. “He’s been promising Space Florida and we were going there today come hell or high water. Now I get the chance to ogle two hot men.”

He smiled slightly and shook his head. She seemed to be missing the fact that he, in turn, got to spend time staring at her as well. Or maybe she realized it and was counting on the fact. Either way, it would be an interesting day. They made their way to the console and he greeted the Doctor, who was fiddling with the controls. “Shouldn’t take long to get there,” he replied.

“That’s good.” He found he had been staying close to Amelia, and she didn’t seem to mind. When the TARDIS lurched and she fell into him, he was able to steady himself against the railing and keep her close. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” the Doctor replied with a frown. He checked his instruments, and the frown deepened. “We seem to have lost the ability to go anywhere, and we’re trapped in space, close to a…” His eyes widened. “Oh, no,” he murmured.

“Think of it as a test.” A male voice came from the stairs, and all three of them turned to see a short man in a dapper suit where he hadn’t been before. Instinctively Sherlock moved so he was in front of Amelia. “Oh, the chivalrous type. I like that. Protect the lady with your life.”

“Who are you?” the Doctor asked.

“I go by many names,” he replied, walking down the steps. “You can call me the Dream Lord.”

“Dream Lord,” Sherlock said flatly.

“Well, I specialize in dreams. Dreams so real, the people I give them to don’t know what’s real and what the dream is. It’s a game I play to amuse myself.”

“Find some other means of amusement,” the Doctor said, glaring.

“Well, then it just wouldn’t be fun, now would it?” he replied. “I’m going to tell you what. I’ll only give you one dream. Just pick whatever is your real world and I’ll let you go.”

“It’s easy. It’s this one,” Amelia said.

“Maybe. Maybe not.” 

And then things changed. Sherlock looked around, and saw he was home. Only it looked different. It looked cleaner, for one, and there were small feminine touches, almost whimsical things. A vase of flowers behind the skull on the mantle. The couch seemed more feminine than before. The papers and files were neat and orderly. It seemed as though it was different, but after a moment he seemed to shake off the feeling, until he turned and looked in the kitchen. It was spotless. He knew in his mind that his kitchen was _never_ spotless.

“You’re no fun.” The Dream Lord appeared by his side, a sour look on his face. “These dreams are supposed to be seamless.”

“It’s ingrained in my nature that I’m not the neatest person in the world,” he said, slightly annoyed.

“Ah,” he replied. “And for you, the perfect dream would be case after case to solve, each one perhaps under a time limit, with dire consequences if you fail?”

“Perhaps,” he replied. 

“Well, since I won’t be having any fun with you, I’ll just remove you from the equation.” He paused. “Or would you like to see what else this dream entailed?”

As annoyed as he was, curiosity was nagging at him. “Show me.” Amelia popped into view, and he could tell right away that she was pregnant. Not too far along, possibly five or six months, but enough that she was showing noticeably. She walked into the kitchen and began rummaging through cupboards, pulling down different items of food. “This would have caught me,” he admitted.

“Then I should have had her come out first,” the Dream Lord replied with a sigh, and then Amelia and his flat were gone and they were back on the TARDIS. 

He had slumped to the ground, and Amelia was sprawled on top of him. He moved her as gently as he could to a more comfortable position, then stood up and looked at the Dream Lord, who was perched on a stool. “I had to switch to her dream. Would you like to see it?”

He shook his head. “I’d rather stop this insane little plot you have going on.”

“It’s not insane,” he snapped. “It’s a twisted form of amusement, yes, but to suggest it’s insane is to suggest I’m insane.” He crossed his legs. “You don’t really dream, but when you do, you dream of her,” he said as he looked at Amelia. Then suddenly he was next to her, stroking her hair. Sherlock tensed, his hands clenching into fists momentarily before he got a hold of himself. But not before it was noticed. “You would die for her, wouldn’t you say?”

“I would,” he said quietly. 

“Do anything for her?”

“She’s important.”

“I can see that,” he replied, standing up. “She dreams about you, you know. Sometimes the dreams are quite naughty, and she has a very creative mind. The dream I put her in now, she’s got the happy life she always wanted. Oh, she’s got you on the side, but she’s still adventuring, still exploring.”

“She thinks nothing is wrong?” Sherlock asked, crossing his arms and looking at the other man.

“It’s no fun if something isn’t going wrong,” the Dream Lord replied. “There are aliens who…well, I suppose eventually they’ll figure it out. But it should make the decision easier. They die there, the decision’s made.”

“These are both dreams,” Sherlock said. “The one you have her under and this one, with us. They’re both dreams.”

The Dream Lord glared at him. “How did you figure it out?”

“There’s always a hum here, a steady sign that all the machinery is running. Even when it isn’t moving, there’s a hum. I know because I find it lulls me. That’s why I don’t like spending a lot of time here. The lights are on right now, and the console is working, but there is no hum.”

“Just because you figured it out doesn’t mean I’m going to let _them_ go,” he spat out in reply.

“No, that’s _exactly_ what it means,” he replied, getting annoyed. “You stated the rules of the challenge. You didn’t state that everyone needed to be awake to figure it out.”

His opponent’s eyes narrowed. “What would you have done if I’d put you in her dream, with no memory of all this?”

“I still would have figured it out. I’m not the only consulting detective in the world for any old reason. I’m intelligent, I have keen insight, and there are things I know deep down in the fiber of my being that cause me to take exquisite notice of everything. No dream is entirely realistic. I would have found the flaw sooner or later.”

“Damn you,” he muttered. “One day that ego of yours will be your downfall.”

“One day, perhaps, but not today,” he said. “Now let us go.”

The Dream Lord blinked out, and Amelia and the Doctor began to stir. Amelia was awake and alert first, and he went over to the Doctor to check on him. “Did I fall and hit my head?” he replied.

“Something like that,” he replied, helping him up.

“Something happened,” Amelia said, looking at him shrewdly.

“Yes, but I took care of it,” he said offhandedly. “Are we almost to our destination?”

The Doctor went to the controls. “Yes, we’re here.”

“Yes! Space Florida, here we come,” Amelia said. She grabbed Sherlock’s hand and took him up the stairs. “Wait till you see my bikini.” They walked away from the console room a bit before she stopped and looked at him. “What happened?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

She glared. “The last thing I remember is getting you from Scotland Yard. Then I wake up on the floor of the console room. I want to know what happened.”

“We had a sadistic visitor,” he said. “He posed a riddle, put us all to sleep and I figured it out. It was nothing.”

She looked at him for a moment, then her gaze softened and she leaned up and kissed him softly. “People should know better than to try and outsmart you,” she said with a smile when she pulled away.

“Yes, they should,” he replied, a small smile on his lips. She took a step away but he grabbed her arm and pulled her back, tipping her chin up again and looking at her intently. He would die for her, a distinction he gave to no one else, not even his brother. He admitted deep down he would kill for her, too, if needed. He didn’t want to imagine a life without her again. 

“Is everything all right?” she asked quizzically.

“Yes, it’s fine.” She raised an eyebrow. “We talked, the visitor and I. He made me come to a few realizations.”

“Such as?”

“That you’re important to me,” he said quietly, running his thumb across her cheek.

“You’re important to me, too,” she said, smiling.

“Do you…dream…of me?” he murmured. He could feel her warm under his touch and knew even without a verbal answer that yes, in fact, she did.

“Sometimes,” she said quietly. “And you?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “I don’t usually dream, but you seem to have come through in the few I have.”

“And am I doing anything interesting?” she asked, using her hands to play with the buttons of his coat.

“In some of them,” he said.

“You do some very interesting things in my dreams,” she replied. “One day I’ll have to see if reality matches up.” She looked at him in a way that made him wish he could find out very soon just what her dreams entailed. But he wasn’t going to get his answer now; she gave him a quick kiss and then pulled away, grabbing his hand and pulling him farther along the corridor. She directed him to a room and she went in another. He found there was a closet with clothes of all sizes, and he found a pair of shorts that worked, as well as a T-shirt. He felt a little uncomfortable, as he was not the type to go to a beach or a pool without the express intent of swimming, and that was not going to be the case today.

He stepped out and waited, and after a few moments Amy emerged from the other room, a Hawaiian print halter dress on. She caught sight of his frown and giggled. “It’s on underneath,” she said. “Did you get a towel?”

“No,” he admitted. She ducked back into the room and grabbed another towel, handing it to him. “Thank you.”

“You do realize I’m going to make sure the t-shirt comes off,” she said with a slightly wicked grin. “If I have to take off this dress you should be showing near as much skin as I do.”

“You can try,” he said, though he knew full well she was going to get her way in that regard because it wouldn’t cost him much to give it to her.

“I will try and I will succeed,” she said, poking him in the chest. Then she walked ahead of him and he followed, doing his best not to let the words of the Dream Lord affect him. But he knew that tonight, if he had dreams, they would be of his encounter with the small man and not much else.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock had not been aboard the TARDIS in the six weeks since the incident with the Dream Lord, as he had declined the chance to be an actual companion, saying he was needed in London. Both the Doctor and Amelia had understood, and he appreciated that beyond measure. Amelia had said the next time he had the inclination to just call.

Of course, him not traveling with them had not stopped her from visiting; on the contrary, she had popped up many times during that six week stretch at times when there was a lull, without him having to call. He suspected she was having the Doctor spy on him to get an opportune moment alone with him, but he didn’t mind. It was almost like a breath of fresh air in his dreary world, when she would arrive with food and companionship. On the first visit he had introduced her to Mrs. Hudson, who adored her and now continuously asked him when “that darling young friend of yours” would come back for another visit.

This time, though, he had called her, and they had picked him up from home. She had kissed him when they met, in front of the Doctor for the first time, and he found he rather liked being greeted in such a way. It wasn’t as though there had been a shortage of that when she visited, but having it as a greeting told him that perhaps he had moved in her estimation to some designation other than “friend.”

“Why don’t you pick where we go this time?” the Doctor suggested.

“A museum?” he ventured after thinking for a few minutes. The Doctor clapped his hands together with a grin while Amy groaned. “What?”

“We go to museums all the time. It’s his way of keeping score. Seeing what he knows he did against what the archeologists think really happened.”

“They have dinosaurs and pre-historic men mostly right,” the Doctor said, fiddling with controls a bit. “If I time it right, we can go back to the Delirium Archive before we steal the box that River left us from…that.”

Amy shivered slightly. “The thing I cried on you about,” she said to Sherlock. He nodded slightly. “We really hadn’t gotten to explore it like normal people,” she said towards the Doctor.

“Yes, but I figured we might like some company, so we need to make a quick pit stop.”

“To where?” she asked.

“Stormcage.” 

“What’s Stormcage?” Sherlock asked as Amelia clapped and jumped up and down a bit.

“A prison, built to hold the worst criminals in the entire galaxy.” The TARDIS lurched a bit and he moved away from the console. “It also holds River Song.”

“We’re breaking someone out of _prison_?” he said, aghast.

“She’s harmless. Mostly,” he said, throwing open the doors and stepping out.

“She’s a time traveler, just like him,” Amy said. “And she’s one of the good guys. She was there, with us, helping. She killed someone, but the Doctor doesn’t seem to mind that. I think they fancy each other.”

“And this is a good thing in your eyes?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“She saved my life, her and the Doctor.”

“But you left out the part where I put it into danger in the first place,” a woman with curly blonde frizz said as she walked in. She went over to Amelia and held out her arms. Amelia went over and gave her a hug. “You’re looking good, dear.”

“I’m doing well,” Amelia said as she hugged her back, then pulled away.

“Where are we at?” she said, looking at the Doctor. “Is Mount Haversham the last thing we’ve done together?”

The Doctor nodded. “And since then I’ve picked up a part-time companion.”

River gasped. “You don’t mean—“ She turned to Sherlock. “You must be Sherlock Holmes.”

“Yes,” he said, his voice a tad chilly.

“Stop that,” Amelia said, sending a glare his way.

“She’s a _criminal_ that we broke out of _prison_ ,” he said, crossing his arms and staring at Amelia.

“Let me handle this,” River said. She turned to move in front of Amy, standing in his line of sight. “Yes, I am a criminal. I murdered the best man I ever knew, and for the most part I own up to the punishment I was given: life behind bars in Stormcage. But they make exceptions for the Doctor, you see, because he’s the man I killed.”

Amelia gasped, and looked from River to the Doctor and back. “But…how?”

“I know it seems strange, but I can’t explain it to you,” River said. “Not yet, at any rate. Just know that he and I move in different directions. He and I will have had our last adventure in my book the first time he meets me. It’s already happened for him, I know that much, and he has been very good about not sharing details.”

“Parallel timelines moving in opposite directions,” Sherlock murmured.

“Something like that,” River said with a smile. Then she turned to Amelia. “Oh, don’t worry, Amy. I promise, everything works out fine.”

“But he dies. You kill him!” she said.

“Everyone dies sometime,” the Doctor said quietly. “Is this when it was supposed to come out?” he asked River.

She nodded, opening her book. “Meet Sherlock, explain who I killed,” she read from it. Then she closed it. “You said we were going to visit a museum?”

“The Delirium Archives.”

“I suppose we’re going _before_ you steal the box,” she said wryly.

“Of course,” the Doctor said with a smile. He looked at Amelia and the smile faltered. “I have time, you know. Before it happens.”

“I just…” Amy sighed, and shut her eyes. “You go about this like it isn’t a big deal, and it is.”

“Of course it is,” River said. “It’s a huge deal. But it’s also a fixed point in time. There isn’t anything we can do about it, so we continue to the best of our ability.” She reached over and put a gentle hand on Amelia’s shoulder hesitantly, and when Amelia didn’t shrug it off she took a step closer. “As he said, everyone dies. Even the ones we care about the most.”

Amelia nodded, but she seemed closed off. River looked over to Sherlock, who nodded and went over to take her place. He stood by her and waited, and after a moment she put her head on his shoulder and leaned against him. “It’s not fair,” she said quietly.

“Life was never designed to be fair,” he said, moving slightly so he had an arm around her waist. “If it was, our lives would be very different.”

“I don’t know. I like my life right now,” she said.

“I like it well enough, but what I meant was that if life was fair to everyone you would be married to Rory Williams right now and I would be alone and busy with work, never having had a grand adventure with you,” he said.

She looked up at him. “I hadn’t thought about it like that.”

“I gathered you hadn’t. As unorthodox as this situation is, the two of them seem to have made the best of it, so I rather guess we should too.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she said with a sigh. She pulled away from him. “But you were wrong about one point.”

“Which one?” he asked.

“If life was fair I would have started dating you years ago,” she said with a smile as the Doctor announced they had arrived. 

He grinned back and followed the others out the doors. “It looks very similar to a museum in London I went to recently,” he said with a tinge of disappointment.

“That’s just this wing. It was designed to look like that museum,” the Doctor said. “There’s another wing that’s based off the Smithsonian in 2045, and another that’s a Greek museum—“

“Let them explore on their own, sweetie,” River said, glancing back at Sherlock and Amelia and winking at them. “Come on. We should go so you can show me what the score is.”

“Smithsonian wing, here we come!” the Doctor said happily as he led River away.

He watched them leave and then looked at Amelia, who was looking at an exhibit in disgust. “What is that?” he asked.

“A Dalek,” she said flatly, with a tinge of anger. “How they got a fossilized one I’ll never know, but it doesn’t need to be in a museum. It needs to be in a black hole.”

He went and looked at it, leaning in as closely as he was able, as Amelia looked on, arms crossed and a scowl on her face. “Bracewell. He was the one who you told me about when you met Churchill. It says here on the placard that he discovered this in some wreckage after World War II.”

“Really?” she said, intrigued despite herself. “Huh. I wonder what happened to him.”

“He went on to make some of the most fundamental discoveries of the time. Worked on the Manhattan Project, with Churchill’s permission. And then he disappeared.” He paused. “But since he was a robot it would make sense, with him not aging after a while.”

“How do you know that?” she asked.

“I researched, after you told me about him,” he said. “But the name had sounded familiar because I was familiar with him as a child.”

“So you researched him back then?” she asked, amused.

“No, he came to tea with my father one afternoon,” he replied, standing up again.

“Seriously?” she asked, her mouth open.

“Yes. My father had tracked him down. I was allowed to sit in on the tea with them. I had just assumed he aged very well, dyed his hair so as not to show age.” He shrugged slightly. “He seemed to like me well enough. Not Mycroft, however. Absolutely hated my brother. He came a few times after but disappeared again. I haven’t seen him since.”

“That’s…wow,” she said. “That’s quite fascinating.”

“Only to you, and perhaps the Doctor,” he said. He looked around. “I don’t think I’m going to find this as interesting as I had hoped.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“It will leave me with more questions, and only one source for answers,” he said. “I don’t mind the Doctor, but he seems a bit…off…sometimes.”

“He does, doesn’t he?” she said, thinking about it for a moment. “But that’s why I like him, because he’s odd.”

“And is that why you like me as well?” he asked, with a seriousness he had not intended. This was an important question to him, he realized.

“No. I like you because…” He moved closer to her. “Because you’re familiar yet there’s always new things to learn about you. Because you’re solid and I know I can count on you. And because you’re a great kisser.” She added that last bit with an impish smile.

“I’m only a _great_ kisser?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he got to her side. “As a kissogram I thought you would have more samples to compare to.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t kiss that many men on the job. It made Rory uncomfortable, so I only did it when we weren’t dating. But kissing them wasn’t like kissing you. Kissing you is…well, it’s an experience. I can’t really describe it.”

“A good one, I gather?”

“A fantastic one.” She looked around, then took his hand. He had an idea of what her plans were, and he was not surprised when they ended up back on the TARDIS. She shut the doors behind her and took his hand again, leading them to the rooms he had been to last time he had needed to change. This time she opened the door she had gone through, and pulled him inside. “Nicer than my room at home,” she said. “Except for the bunk beds.”

He glanced at them in amusement, then looked around. It was tidy, and there seemed to be mementos from other trips there. He went to the dresser and leaned over, sniffing an exotic looking flower before glancing at the other things on it. It was a small room, but it seemed as though it suited her. “It’s nice,” he replied.

“The only nice thing about these bunk beds is that the bottom bed is a full,” she said, going to sit on it. He sat down next to her, waiting. She had made the first move, he would leave the rest up to her as well. She leaned back on the bed and he did the same, turning to look at her. She was smiling and pointed up, and he turned back and looked up. She had tucked fake flowers in the boards holding the top mattress up. “And I can make it my own personal garden.”

“You seem to like it here,” he said.

“I do,” she said, moving onto her side, facing him. He stayed on his back, and after a moment he felt her fingers start to walk up and down the line of buttons on his shirt. “But there are some things I would definitely like here that aren’t here.”

“Such as?”

“You.” He was quiet. “I know you won’t stay, though. This isn’t me asking. But it would be nice if I got to see you more often.”

“You seem to be spying on me. You know when I could use company.”

“You figured it out, eh?” she said with a chuckle. “It’s not invasive. He just scans the front door for a while to see if you’ve left or not, and if you’ve been in there for at least two hours I figure it’s safe to come visit.” He had to grin a bit at that. He grabbed her hand and moved it off of him so he could roll over and face her. When he let go of her hand she started playing with the buttons again. Then she moved closer, and closer, finally closing the gap between them. “If I leave here, I can move to London. I got asked to model not that long before I was supposed to get married. I could base myself there.”

“That would be good,” he said, moving his hand to her hip and stroking it slightly before curling around and placing his hand on the small of her back. “I would make time for you.”

“I would hope so,” she said. She moved a hand up to his face. “But I may go with him again. Not for long, not like now, but…if he asks…”

“I wouldn’t stop you, as long as you warned me first.” He ran his hand up her back a little, reaching about midway up her spine, before bringing his hand back down. “I trust you, and I trust him. He’ll keep you safe.”

“Good,” she said, an elated smile on her face. She leaned in and kissed him, a soft kiss, and she probably intended to pull away after a moment but he didn’t let her, not until they both needed to breathe. She rested her forehead against his. “You better promise to kiss me every day you can,” she said between heavy breaths.

“I promise,” he murmured before kissing her again, more passionately this time. He used his hand to pull her closer to him, and she in turn leveraged them so she was more on her back. He moved so that he was draped on top of her some, propping himself up on one elbow, letting his other hand travel down her side. She was working on the buttons of his shirt as they kissed, and had managed to get two undone before there was a knocking at her door.

“Yes?” she answered, her hand stilling as she moved her head to face it.

“Just checking,” River’s voice came from the other side. “Our dear Doctor made a mess of things so we have to make a run for it. I’ll keep him occupied. Have fun!”

He chuckled slightly at that, and was soon joined by a giggle on Amy’s part. “It’s almost like she knows what we’re doing,” she said, a smile on her face.

“That’s probably because she does,” he said. He moved his fingers under the hem of her shirt. “Whatever she is, she is not stupid.”

“That’s very true,” she said a little breathlessly as he flattened his palm on her skin and made his way higher. “She’s very intelligent.” She retaliated by tracing her finger along his collarbone, then pulling it down to where his shirt was still buttoned. She lifted her finger off his skin and finished unbuttoning his shirt. She placed her palm on his chest as his fingers skirted the bottom of her bra. “You’re so warm,” she said softly.

“So are you,” he said, taking the shirt and lifting it up over her breasts. She sat up a little and moved her arms over her head, and he got the shirt off. He leaned in again and kissed her, a deep kiss that reminded him of their first; once again, he was worried he would set fire to something. She used her hands to push the shirt off his shoulders and he pulled away long enough to shrug it off. She sat up more and when he went back to her he used it to his advantage, undoing her bra and pulling it off in one practiced movement. She put her hands on his back and pulled him back down against her, kissing him again. It had been a while for him since the last time he had done this, and it had not felt like this. This was the first time he had felt such a frantic need in the act, that if he didn’t get close to her he would burst.

He pulled away from the kiss, going on a whim to explore a bit, He kissed her neck, and felt her fingers curl slightly. He nipped at the skin lightly and felt her fingernails dig into his skin. No one else had tried that before and he had to admit he rather liked it. The idea of her leaving her mark appealed to some base nature in him. He continued to move lower, to her collarbone, then the valley between her breasts, then her flat stomach, all the while her hands moving farther up, ending with her fingers tangled in his hair.

“Up,” she breathed out. “Kiss me.” He made his way back up, kissing her hard when he got to her lips. He’d never thought of himself to be a rather attentive lover, but for her he would do it or die trying. She slid her hands down and reached between them, reaching for the button on his trousers. She undid them, then stilled.

He paused, pulling his lips away from hers. “Do you want to continue?” he asked, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against her, feeling it slip a bit from the sheen of perspiration.

“Yes,” she said. “I just don’t want to accidentally hurt you.”

He let out a breath that tried to be a laugh but thankfully failed. She wasn’t wanting to stop. He didn’t know what he would have done if she said no. He moved away from her, undid his shoes, took off his socks, finished undoing his trousers and stepped out of them, leaving him just in his pants. She shifted her position, lifting up her hips. He came back to her, and reached behind to lower the zipper on her skirt. With great care he slowly pulled off the skirt as well as her knickers. He saw she had kicked off her flats at some point, and once her skirt was off he came back up to her.

“Why is it I’m naked and you’re not?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I didn’t think I should have all the fun,” he said, a slightly wicked grin on his face. She answered it with a decidedly mischievous grin of her own and reached for the band of his pants. Very carefully she peeled them off, and then pulled him back on top of her. It took a minute, but soon he was kissing her again. One thing led to another and in due course they were being intimate. He now fully realized exactly what had been missing the other times, and by the time he was finished he knew he would never feel this way with anyone other than her. She had a blanket down by the foot of the bed and he grabbed it, covering both of them and pulling her up against him. Once they were comfortable he realized he was actually quite tired.

“Sherlock?” she asked, in a contented voice that sounded just as sleepy as he felt.

“Yes?”

“That was _definitely_ as good as my dreams.” She pulled up one of his hands from around her waist, kissed his palm, and then snuggled against him. Within moments they were both asleep.

He woke up two hours later, Amelia still curled up next to him. He was debating getting up when there was another knock at the door. “Yes?” he answered, loudly enough to be heard but quiet enough, he hoped, not to wake Amelia up.

“Oh. Yes. Well. I was just wondering…is everything all right?”

“It’s fine, Doctor,” a sleepy sounding Amelia said. “We were just napping.”

“Oh, good. I was worried when River had said you’d taken to your room. Well…when you’re fully awake, go ahead and come to the console room. It’s still your turn to pick where you want to go, Sherlock.”

“We’ll be there soon,” he replied, and looked down at Amelia, who looked like she was stifling her laughter. “What’s so funny?”

“God, it feels like I had a shag with my parents around and they’re trying to be nosy without actually asking,” she said, letting the giggles out.

“It does rather feel like that, doesn’t it?” he mused, a slight grin on his face.

She pushed him back onto his back and hovered over him. “How do you define ‘soon,’ Sherlock?”

“Whenever you finish whatever it is you’re planning,” he said, reaching up and entwining his fingers in her hair.

“I like that answer,” she said, leaning in and kissing him again. When they got to the console room an hour later, the Doctor was fussing over them and River was watching with a “you were most definitely shagging, weren’t you?” look on her face, complete with raised eyebrow. It was all he could do not to grin madly, but he made sure he stayed close to Amelia for the rest of the day.

She told the Doctor she wanted to leave, and as clueless as he may have been as to what conspired that afternoon he knew that her time had approached. He asked her to give him a few days, to set some things up for her and show her one last grand adventure, and she agreed. He asked Sherlock if he wanted to join them but he declined, knowing he needed to go back home and also knowing that Amelia needed her time alone with her friend. When they dropped him off at 221B Baker St, he shared a long kiss with Amelia, then watched her walk back to her friend. Soon, she would be close. He simply had to wait patiently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the art drawn for this chapter! Credit to **equal_to_k** on Livejournal.


	5. Chapter 5

Within a week she was settled in a home in the SoHo district, and her friend had even gotten her a car for her own uses. Even though they did have a grand adventure before they parted ways, involving real old-fashioned pirates that ended up flying a ship in space, for the first night Amelia seemed incredibly sad. He knew she had a perfectly good place of her own, but he insisted she stay with him the first night, then the second. By the third morning she seemed more like her old self, enough that he awoke to the smell of food. Home-cooked food, something he was not that used to. Something he had the feeling he was going to need to get used to.

“I know the blue eggs are for an experiment so I didn’t touch them,” she said as he came into the kitchen. “Mrs. Hudson told me where the market was and I picked up everything else.” She paused. “Cooking is part of the healing process for me.”

“I can see that,” he said, looking around. There was a stack of pancakes, a plate of bacon and she had even dug out the toaster and made toast. He had the sinking suspicion he was going to be eating a lot of it, so he went and got plates.

“Do you want eggs?”

“No, this will be fine,” he said.

She looked at him. “How do you take your eggs, anyway?”

“If I have to eat them, usually I will make an omelet. If I have enough other ingredients, at any rate. I’m just not really an egg person.”

“Ah. I like mine scrambled, with a lot of cheese on top.” 

“Scrambled eggs will do if I must eat them and I don’t get much choice.”

“Well, I’m not good at omelets so all you’ll get from me is scrambled.”

“I’m not really a breakfast person.”

“Ah,” she said.

“Though I will admit the pancakes look like they’d hold up well if I put them in the refrigerator and reheated them later,” he said thoughtfully.

“I’ll leave you whatever I don’t eat,” she said. “Was that a human brain in the jar in the fridge?”

“Yes,” he said as she came over with silverware in one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other. He thought the juice was for him but then she took a sip of it. Just as well; he didn’t quite like the stuff. “It doesn’t disturb you?”

“Nope,” she said. “I’m Scottish. I have a strong stomach. Anyone that will eat haggis has to have one.”

He smiled at that. This was a new routine for him, having company for breakfast, having breakfast made for him…he liked it quite a bit, but he knew eventually she would go home and it wouldn’t be like this. He took some of the pancakes and bit into them. They were very good. He watched her eat as he did; she had some of the pancakes and half the bacon, plus her glass of orange juice and two pieces of toast. There were still a few pancakes and slices of bacon left when they were finished, and she put them in containers and put them in the fridge for him.

They had chatted about plans for the day. He had to go to Scotland Yard and meet with Lestrade, and she had a meeting with her agent to go over some open jobs. He had already slept in a bit and his appointment was at ten, so he hurried in getting ready as she cleaned up after herself. When he was ready he came out and saw she was sitting at the island in the kitchen, looking over some things. “What are those?”

“My portfolio,” she said glumly. “The Doctor got a world class photographer to take them, but…I don’t know. What do you think?”

“Do you want fake honesty or brutal honesty?” he asked, hesitating. This almost seemed to be a test. He didn’t want to fail it.

“Brutal honesty. No one else is going to give less.” 

He looked through the photos. Most of them were decent, one never should have been put in, but one was absolutely perfect. He pulled that one out and set it on top. “Use that one when you’re submitting yourself for work. Get rid of the purple one, and as you can afford it replace the rest. They’ll do for now, though.”

“Thank you,” she said with a smile, looking up at him. She grabbed hold of his scarf and pulled him down to kiss him quickly then let go. “I’m going to take a shower and then head out. I’ll lock up behind me.”

He hesitated, and then reached into his pocket for his keys. He had a spare for a potential flat mate, and it wasn’t as though he didn’t trust her. He unhooked the spare key and held it in front of her. “In case you want to come in and I’m not home,” he said quietly.

She took the key, grabbed his scarf and pulled him in for a longer kiss, one that would have turned into more if she hadn’t suddenly let go. Her eyes were bright when she pulled away. “Check your keys.”

He did, and saw an unfamiliar one. “Your flat, I presume?”

She nodded. “I put it on last night, just in case you needed to go there for whatever reason. I don’t know if you drive, but I’m planning on making a copy of my car key too, and letting you have it.”

“I only drive if I absolutely have to.”

“Then you can hold onto it in case I lose mine. At least then I’ll know it’s someplace safe. Have a good day.”

He gave her a quick smile and then left. The rest of the day was a bore, as the case was incredibly easy to solve, and the only private customer he had was still out of town. He returned home to find the place empty, but there was a note from Amelia on the table in the kitchen, telling him to come over if he could and call if he couldn’t, and that she’d be home around six. He glanced at his watch; it was only four thirty-six. He could easily find a way to occupy himself for the time. He pulled out the file he’d been looking at and got to work.

The next time he looked at a clock he saw it was seven twenty-five. He cursed at himself slightly, then got his phone and called her. She picked up after two rings. “Not coming over tonight?” she said.

“Well, unless it’s too late to come over now,” he said.

“No, it’s fine,” she said. “I was running a little late and thought you’d stopped by and left. I have things for dinner. Do you know anything about wine?”

“No,” he admitted.

“It’s good to know you don’t know everything,” she said with a slight chuckle. “See if you can pick up a white wine on the way.”

“White wine. Right.” 

“See you soon.”

He hung up and paced in his living room for a moment. There was a knock at the door, and he went and opened it to find Mrs. Hudson there. “Just the person I needed,” he said.

“Oh?” she replied. 

“Do you know a good bottle of white wine?” he asked.

Her eyes brightened and her smile widened. “You’re going to spend some time with that darling friend of yours, aren’t you?”

He nodded brusquely. “She just moved to London.”

“Ah, so this is a housewarming. Just give me a moment.” She disappeared and a little over five minutes later she came back holding a bottle. “This will do nicely. I think she’ll enjoy it.”

“I hope she does. I never drink the stuff.”

She chuckled. “I didn’t think so.” Then her look turned more serious. “If Amelia has a flat of her own, that means she won’t be sharing this one, am I correct?”

“Yes,” he said absently.

“Then are you still going to look for a flat mate?”

He paused. He had rather hoped, eventually, that he could convince Amelia to move in with him. It had been an idea brewing in his head when she said she was going to stop traveling with the Doctor. He hadn’t suggested it outright because even he knew it would be too fast. But Mrs. Hudson had expected to take on another boarder to cover all the rent. He liked this place, and didn’t want to lose it. With a sigh, he nodded. “I’ll start looking tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” She made her way out the door, and then paused in the doorway. “I’d suggest a month to month agreement, just in case your young friend changes her mind about living on her own.”

He grinned at that, and followed her out the door, bottle of wine in his hand. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

A short time later he was at Amelia’s place. She opened the door with a smile on her face, took the wine and showed him where to put his jacket and scarf. He got his things stowed and took a good look. There were large windows that during the day would let in a lot of natural light, and it was very much decorated to her taste. His heart sank just a little; now that he got a better look, he realized this was definitely a place she could inhabit. It had been foolish to think she might want to live with him.

She had decided on holding off to make dinner, which got pushed back further when a “good to see you” kiss carried on into him carrying her into her bedroom and them spending some time there. It wasn’t until nine o’clock when she got down to the business of making dinner, forgoing her original plan and making a simple chicken dish. He watched her work from a stool at the counter of her kitchen, rather mesmerized by the process. He had never really enjoyed the act of cooking, and it was nice to see someone who did.

“I took your advice and used the headshot you suggested,” she said with a smile. “I’m going to be the spokesmodel for a new perfume called Petrichor.”

“That’s nice,” he said.

“Did anything interesting happen to you today?”

“No,” he replied. She hadn’t opened the wine, and had offered him a glass of iced tea. He had chosen a bottle of water instead, and he watched her pick up her glass and take a sip of the chilled green tea as he had some of his water. “Mrs. Hudson reminded me I need to find a flat mate.”

“Ah,” she said. “I don’t think that’s going to go so well.”

“How can you say that?” he asked.

“Do you still think you’re a high functioning sociopath?” she asked, taking the spatula she was using and pointing it at him.

“Yes,” he said. “You’re the exception to how I usually deal with people.”

“That is your problem right there,” she said with a nod. “No one’s going to put up with it.”

“You would,” he said.

“I would, but I’m not going to live with you,” she said. “Not yet, at any rate. We’ve moved rather fast…I don’t want to really jump ahead of myself.”

He looked at her. “You arrived back into my life July 1st, the next time I saw you was September 1st. We were intimate for the first time on November 27th, you moved to London on December 4th and you just spent the last two days at my flat, and today is five months and five days since all that started.”

“But we only started dating in September,” she said.

“That was what you consider the start of it all?” he asked shrewdly.

“Yes,” she said. “So we’ve been dating for a little over three months. It’s still too soon to move in together.”

He bit his tongue. There were a few things he wanted to say but he didn’t want to start a fight. He didn’t need to push her away like he pushed everyone else away. Instead he looked away, trying to calm himself down.

“Why do you remember all the dates?” she asked from next to him. She must have come up while he was focusing on not being angry.

“Because they’re important,” he said, his tone still a little snappish.

“Well, I mean, our first kiss and the first time we were together, yeah, but why do you remember the day I stood in your kitchen crying?”

“Because that was the first time something happened in my life that truly mattered,” he said, looking at her intently.

“What you do matters,” she said. “You help people, bring justice for those who can’t ask for it.”

“But it doesn’t matter to _me_ ,” he said quietly. “You coming back into my life…that mattered to me.”

She looked at him, then slid onto his lap and put her arms around his neck. “I didn’t realize that.”

“Yes, well, it’s the truth. I don’t lie to people I care about.”

“And you care about me?”

“Yes.” He looked at her intently. “And you?”

“I care about you too,” she said quietly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I was falling in love with you.”

“I can’t tell you if you are or not,” he said. “I don’t even know if I’d realize it myself.”

“I know.” She leaned in and kissed him softly. “But you care. I’ll take that for now.”

He reached up and touched her cheek. “I’d die for you. I’d even kill for you,” he said quietly.

“I’d do the same for you,” she replied. He leaned in and kissed her, and it consumed so much of their attention that only the shriek of her smoke alarm pulled them apart. She jumped off his lap, ran to get a lid to put on the fire, and then grabbed the mini fire extinguisher instead. He joined her, looking at the charred remains of their dinner, covered in white foam. “Do you know any place around here that delivers Thai food?” she said, looking at him. He cracked a smile. He couldn’t help it. He also couldn’t stop the chuckle that came up out of him. She punched his shoulder but he just laughed harder, and after a moment she joined in. When he was done he wiped tears from his eyes, and he did the same for her when she stood straight. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh before.”

“I don’t tend to find things so amusing,” he said.

“I like it,” she said. “I think I’m going to make it my mission to make you laugh.”

“You can _try_ ,” he replied, a smile still on his face.

“And I’ll succeed,” she said. “Are you really hungry?”

“No,” he replied.

“Me either,” she said, putting both her hands on his chest and pushing him back towards her room. “At least not for dinner.”

He stopped and stood still, and she tried to push but she couldn’t. He caught her hands in his and brought them up to his lips. “Promise no matter how hard I push, you won’t leave.”

“I’ll stay until you push too far,” she said. “But I’ll put up with a lot because I know it’s your nature.”

“I can live with that,” he said.

“Promise me no matter how far I run you’ll try and catch me,” she said.

“I promise,” he said, letting go of her hands and framing her face with his. “I will find you wherever you go, until you tell me you don’t want me around anymore.”

She smiled, then leaned up and kissed him, and only after a moment did he relent to being pushed back to her room again. But in the end it was worth it.


End file.
